The American Bodyguard
Автор
Laila Callaway
Прочтений
993K
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Zainab Qadir is living the dream—editing books by day, ignoring her rich family's spotlight by night. But when her bodyguard quits, she’s stuck with a new one: Jake Huxley, a no-nonsense American who’s suddenly moved into her London flat.
He’s all rules and rigid routines. She’s all sass and spontaneous chaos. Living together is strictly professional... except when it’s absolutely not. Between the close quarters and smoldering tension, they’re on a collision course for trouble—with just enough heat to keep things interesting.
Who’s really guarding who here?
Chapter 1
ZAINAB
Since when is loving someone a crime? If I can’t have her, there isn’t much point in breathing. My body is merely an empty vessel; she is the one who holds my soul. I belong to her.
I turn up my nose and twirl my pen. I’ve been given the sign-off on three books. I’ve already selected two manuscripts. They were easy: a thriller and a fantasy novel. But this one?
I know my boss wants a new romance, but I just can’t get my head around the ones on offer.
Don’t get me wrong; I love a good rom-com. I’ve read Pride and Prejudice more times than I can count, yet something is holding me back from signing off on this one.
My thumb keeps the book open as I jot down some notes. Most of them center on the fact that this book is unrealistic—not in the dragons-can-exist way, more in the there-is-no-way-in-hell-a-man-would-think-like-this. The male love interest is too far gone for the FMC. It’s not believable.
I keep reminding myself that it’s fiction, but it’s no use. My brain cannot comprehend such a romantic and articulate man. In my experience, they’ve all been full of shit and could never back up their talk with their actions.
Just as I put down my pen, my phone starts to vibrate on the desk.
A smile spreads onto my lips at the sight of the caller ID.
“Zal,” I answer immediately with his nickname.
“Nab,” he responds a beat later. “My sis.” He drags out the word. “How are you, bruv?”
I roll my eyes at my twin brother.
“How many times have I asked you not to call me bruv? I’m good, thanks. How are you, Faisal?”
“All good, all good. Look, plans have changed, and we’re coming back early.”
“I thought you weren’t back until next Wednesday?”
“That was meant to be the plan, but man, Liverpool is boring.”
I snort at his casual dismissal of one of England’s biggest cities. “Liverpool is boring?” I repeat, making sure I’ve heard him correctly.
“I tried being a tourist for all of two minutes. Even with security, the public hounded us. It wasn’t funny; some of those Scousers are seriously unhinged.”
I frown. “Jeez, you need to stay safe. My nerves can’t take it. Where were you when this happened? What did security do about it?”
“Chill, sis, I’m fine. I was just tryna get on one of them ferries. Liverpool is all about the Mersey; I thought I’d travel in style on a boat or somethin’. Anyways, people got wind that the great rapper Faisal Qadir was on the waves, and that was it. They were jumping in the water and trying to get aboard.”
I raise my eyebrows, wondering how much of this is fact and how much is fiction. My brother has been known to exaggerate.
“But I also miss home, ya know?”
“A world tour will do that to you.”
“I can’t believe it’s been six months since I last saw you.”
My heart aches at the thought. We were inseparable growing up.
“When are you coming back then?”
“That’s why I’m callin’. Tonight. Dad’s chartered a plane for us.”
That couldn’t have been cheap.
“Oh, amazing!”
“Yeah, all good, innit. I’m gonna be back in London by ten; then we’re going out, yeah? We gotta end this sobriety of yours.”
I pull a face, and I’m sure Faisal is picturing it in his mind. “It hasn’t been that long.”
“You haven’t touched a drop of alcohol in three months! Come on, sis, you pregnant or what?”
I snort. To be pregnant you’d have to have sex.
“Definitely not. My liver has welcomed the break. Yours would thank you, too, if you gave it a rest.”
“My liver is fine.”
“It’s just your lungs,” I tease. “Smoking weed is just as bad as drinking, Faisal.”
“Whatever, I know that’s not your jam.”
Faisal goes out more than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s rarely at home. It bothered me as a teenager, and it bothers me now. But no matter how many times I’ve told him to stop, he doesn’t listen.
“Look, I’ll come out, but remember that I’m a massive lightweight.”
I usually end up getting plastered when Faisal convinces me to join his crew on a night out.
“Thank you, sis. I knew you’d agree. I know you’ve been doing therapy, so how about this? You come out, have a few drinks, and then you call it a night before you get leathered.”
“Good idea, thanks. Where should I meet you?”
“My place, but I’ll send Reagan over to collect you from work. What time do you finish?”
“Five o’clock.”
“Awesome, Reagan will be there. See you soon, sis.”
We hang up, and I sigh heavily. I lean back in my chair and stare at the black screen of my phone.
As if I summoned him, my father texts, and my phone lights up.
Dad
I have just received word that Faisal is returning to the country. I will be indisposed for the next two weeks but will try to return to London sometime at the end of the month. Keep an eye on him for me. X
I smile at the thought of my dad, a hugely successful business magnate, adding a kiss at the end of his text.
His message irritates me, though. I’m twenty-four. I’m not a babysitter for my brother. He’s actually older by three minutes, but you’d never know that.
I’ve been looking out for him all our lives, from breaking up his fights at school to bailing him out of drunk driving charges at eighteen.
That’s why wherever Faisal goes now, his crew goes with him. Four guys, his best friends since school, the ones he calls his blood brothers.
He trusts them as much as he trusts me; they keep him out of trouble and watch his back.
With thoughts of tonight on my mind, I return to reading the romance book.
***
Reagan
I’m outside. Come down whenever you’re ready, Zai.
I smile at Reagan’s text. He has been on my father’s payroll since I was sixteen.
He’s thirty-eight, a father of two, and happily married to a nurse who works night shifts. As a reward for being on the job for a whole week at a time, he gets a week off.
I pack up my things and leave the book on my desk for further consideration.
My boss is still in her office, scanning a thick manuscript. Her glasses are perched on the end of her nose, her beady eyes narrowed.
She looks up when I fill the doorway.
“I’m off now, Suze. You good for me to go?”
“Yes, go,” she says, waving her hand. “Have a good weekend.”
“You too.”
Out on the street, Reagan is waiting beside a blacked-out SUV. He looks smart in his suit. The earpiece really gives him that spy/bodyguard vibe.
“Reagan.”
He smirks and opens the door.
“Zainab.”
He tried to call me Miss Qadir at the start of his employment. Faisal and I were having none of it, and he’s called us by our first names ever since.
“Home, please,” I tell him as he gets behind the driver’s seat, in case he gets any ideas about going to my brother’s first.
I need a shower before I deal with the chaos of tonight. Since Faisal has been gone for months, there will no doubt be a messy party to honor his return.
Back at my flat, Reagan makes himself comfortable on my couch and watches TV. It took years for him to become relaxed in my presence. I’m glad we have the kind of relationship now where he can be casual while on the job with me.
I take a shower and spend ages drying my hair. It’s naturally wavy, and I leave it untouched, too lazy to straighten it.
Thanks to my Bahraini parents, I have glossy skin the color of Acacia wood. When my friend bought a new coffee table, we found it funny that it was the same color as us. It became the perfect way to describe our skin tone: a warm shade of brown with nuanced caramel undertones.
I pour myself a glass of wine as a treat to myself. I deserve it after dragging my ass through half of that manuscript. And besides, I’m going to be breaking my streak tonight anyway.
I take sips of the chilled wine as I do my makeup. I paint black flicks along the curve of my eyelids.
I don’t think you could call my irises brown; they’re black. I don’t mind, though, because they match my hair.
I’m usually quite a self-critical person, but the one thing I like about myself is that I have a full Cupid’s bow on my upper lip. I love emphasizing it with lipliner, just like I do tonight.
When my eyelids are glittering with sparkly eyeshadow and my winged eyeliner could cut a man, I’m ready.
I clip on my silver metallic heels and stumble into the living room.
“Okay, Reagan, you’re seriously going to have to help me tonight; these things are lethal.”
His eyes widen at the six-inch stilettos I’m wearing.
“They are death traps. Why are you wearing those?”
“They’re new!” I whine. “I haven’t had the opportunity to try them out yet.”
“You’re going to break your ankle,” he says dryly. “And I won’t even be there to take you to the hospital.”
I pout and put my hands on my hips. “What? Why?”
“Didn’t your brother tell you?” He frowns and gets to his feet. “I’m not working tonight; the new guy is. Faisal got a new bodyguard in the States, and he’s come back with him.”
“He never said that.”
“That’s strange… Oh shit, maybe Faisal wanted to tell you himself.” Reagan hesitates. “He’s going to be your new bodyguard.”
What?
